Home for the Holidays
by March Hare
Summary: Jingle bells, March Hare smells, and the halls aren't the only ones who get decked. Christmas at the Warren!


Merry Christmas! Hare here, with this holiday treat for you! As a note to all Brownies, I'm afraid that there are going to be some delays in MIM. After reviewing BST, I realized that I wrote the entire thing without an outline or a character sketch! I know practically nothing about Nona or any other of my OCs! Therefore, to remedy this problem, I'm taking Nona to a shrink. Confused? So am I! You'll just have to wait and see what turns out.  
  
In the meantime, enjoy this holiday cookie! It's our first Christmas as a big Sherlockian family, and as such, it promises to be eventful! This is NOT serious, just a playful spoof.  
  
Legal Disclaimer(s): All Canon members are Conan Doyle's, BST characters are mine, the mini-Hounds and BSFA belong to Miss Juliet Norrington, Gimlee the mini-Balrog (or at least the rights) are Camilla Sandman's, the Parrot Sketch is property of Monty Python's Flying Circus, and all respective Sherlockians belong to themselves. Whew!  
  
Enjoy!  
  
~~  
  
Home for the Holidays, or Creative Uses for Mistletoe  
  
by March Hare, the Mad  
  
~~  
  
The Warren  
  
December 25, 2003  
  
~~  
  
The fresh snow was a brilliant, blinding white, unspoiled by footprint or track. It covered the leafless trees that dotted the field, stretching their spindly black arms to the cerulean sky. It caressed the ground in a loving embrace, sheltering the dormant foliage until the advent of spring. It graced the curve of an enormous hill, curiously set with an icy door and numerous frosted windows. The only place where the blanket of white was disturbed at all was before the door of the hill, where it was being shoveled with disparagement by a diminutive figure, thoroughly muffled in black coat, plaid scarf and newsboy cap.  
  
"Stupid snow," grumbled the figure, flinging powder with new gusto. "Got to shovel snow on Christmas Day, Jeez Louise, ev'rybody else is sleeping, not like they're gonna get outta bed and help me get ready for the party, lazy bunch of- huh?" The figure ceased its litany at the tiny explosion of snow on the back of its head.  
  
Turning, the snow-shoveler saw a woman in a blond-and-brown braid and a green scarf standing in the doorway, bending to scoop more snow for another snowball. As she straightened, packing the snow, she noticed the figure's attentiveness and sheepishly discarded the missile. "Merry Christmas, March!" called Miss Juliet Norrington, Coordinator of the Baker Street Fanfiction Academy, rubbing her coatless arms. "You going to eat or what?"  
  
The figure loosened the scarf and removed the cap, revealing a young woman with darker brown hair, glasses and, oddly enough, long bunny ears. "Eat what?" March Hare returned. "Who else is up?"  
  
"Everyone!" retorted Miss Juliet. "Washed, dressed, and ensconced in the Dining Hall with cereal, fruit and coffee."  
  
March's jaw dropped in disbelief. "You got everyone organized all by yourself?"  
  
Juliet polished her nails offhandedly. "Well, they don't call me Coordinator for nothing! That and a couple of strategically-placed mini- Hounds and it was a piece of cake." She gestured to the open door leading into the hill. "The snow will still be there after breakfast, and we need a game plan for the party tonight. Get in here, I'm freezing!"  
  
March dutifully tramped into the foyer of the Warren and discarded her accoutrements in the large hall closet. Shaking out her hair and ears, she followed Juliet down the hall. The Warren was the official home of the March Hare, and the unofficial home for the other Sherlockians of fanficdom, including the entire class of BSFA, there on Christmas break. Gas lamps lit the earthen halls as the pair of professors traversed the underground passage, treading on the polished hardwood floor, following the sounds of conversation to the Dining Hall. The Hall was an enormous circular chamber, lit by chandeliers and large floor-to-ceiling windows, perfectly capable of seating the dozens of fanfiction readers and writers who sat at the many tables. They chattered excitedly over the upcoming festivities as they ate.  
  
As the owner of the Warren, March sank into her reserved spot and briefly returned season's greetings to the others at her table before hurriedly snatching a bagel and a cup of coffee from the table.  
  
"So, what's the scoop, Hare?" asked Kenta Divina, idly stirring her cereal. "When are they going to get here?"  
  
"A' five," March muttered around a mouthful of bagel, slathering cream cheese on the other half. "We're going to need supper ready by six and the. . . wait, I'd better tell everyone at once." Scooting her chair back, she stood on it and shouted, "Everyone, can I have your attention?" There was no change in the diners. "Excuse me, I have an announcement!" Still nothing. "I said-!"  
  
"EVERYBODY QUIET!!!" came a roar next to March, nearly knocking her from her perch. The room plunged into silence as Juliet smirked in satisfaction. "All yours," she chirped, getting off her own chair.  
  
March straightened her glasses and took a deep breath. "First off, Merry Christmas, everyone." She paused at the returning chorus of "Merry Christmas"-es and continued when the room had quieted. "Now, the guests will be arriving around five, so supper should be *on the table* about six. Likewise, we'll need the ground floor spotless by four, so everyone can have time to get ready. After dinner we'll have the present exchange, and after that we'll have dancing in the Ballroom. I know that we have a shortage of men here, so ladies, take turns with the dance partners." A few evil laughs echoed as those possessing a Y-chromosome swallowed uneasily. "All kitchen staff for the day should get started on the food soon after breakfast is cleaned up, and I want the others on their tasks right after breakfast. Thank you, as you were." She hopped down from the chair and resumed eating, as did everyone else, confident that everything would run smoothly.  
  
Little did they know that it would be the most eventful Christmas in the history of Sherlockania.  
  
***  
  
After breakfast, March left Juliet and her mini-Hounds to coordinate the cleaning crew and went to check up on the kitchen staff before she finished shoveling the path. Sunshine cascaded through the windows and spilled over the wooden countertops onto the tiled floor. The clinking sounds of dishes being washed provided the counterpoint for the whisk of potatoes peeling, the clatter of pans and the rattle of spices, underscoring the cheery chatter of the five women working as kitchen staff for the day. "Well, what's on the menu for today, ladies?" March asked, snagging a coffee mug from the pile of freshly-washed dishes.  
  
"Well," began T'Res, smiling to herself. "We thought we'd start with fresh cream of carrot soup. That okay with you?"  
  
Cream of carrot soup. . . March could only nod, sipping her coffee to keep her mouth from watering as Blanche continued. "Then there are all the usual favorites, fruit salad, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, and so on."  
  
"Crowned by the piece de resistance," chimed Neoholmesz, punctuating her words with her potato peeler. "Christmas Goose in Lorange Sauce, with pumpkin and pecan pie afterwards."  
  
"What's Lorange Sauce?" asked March, puzzled.  
  
"That's Neo trying to say 'orange' in a fancy French accent," grinned Rosie G, earning a swipe from the aproned girl.  
  
"Just don't forget to check the gooses' crops before you cook them," March teased. "I'd hate to choke on a carbuncle!" The room chuckled at her Canonical pun as the bunny-woman continued. "Need any help?"  
  
T'Res nudged her out of the room. "No thanks, March, too many cooks spoil the soup, you know."  
  
"Besides, we'd like some soup to be left for dinner, if you don't mind!" called Neoholmesz.  
  
Shooting a mock-glare at the younger pastichian, March continued through the hallways towards the front door, passing a pair of students from BSFA, oblivious to their conversation.  
  
"So," said Leigh Tobias, crossing her arms skeptically. "Let me get this straight. You made a *love potion*??"  
  
"Yup," replied Issy, brandishing a small glass bottle with a murky greenish- brown liqueur inside. "Love Potion No. 10."  
  
"What happened to the other nine?"  
  
Issy opened her mouth to reply, but paused. "Ummm, I dunno," she said, scratching her blue curls before plowing on. "Anyway, I cooked it up in my room here at the Warren. Used elven wine, dark chocolate and distillation of mistletoe."  
  
Leigh cringed at the ingredients. "Yuck, why those?" she asked.  
  
Issy adopted a professorial tone. "Elven wine is three times as intoxicating as regular wine, at least for humans, dark chocolate is a powerful aphrodisiac and mistletoe. . . well, everyone knows about mistletoe on Christmas!"  
  
"How did you get elven wine? You remember The Rules!" Leigh exclaimed.  
  
The amateur alchemist smirked. "'Borrowed' it from Haldir, Northstar's muse. He brought an ample supply to get him through the holidays."  
  
"Does it work?" asked Leigh, warming to the possibilities of a love potion.  
  
"Don't know that, either," Issy admitted. "But we're gonna find out! Come on!" The two girls set off through the halls, Issy purposefully looking for something and Leigh trailing in her wake. Love potion, what nonsense. Just as Leigh was about to protest at the stupidity of this whole idea, Issy pointed. "There!" Just inside the empty library, they could see Les Trade, one of the March Hare's mini-Hounds of the Baskervilles, sleeping next to the fire in the hearth.  
  
Issy pulled a paper towel from her pocket and unfolded it, revealing a few pieces of bacon. Uncorking the bottle, she sprinkled a few drops of the potion over the meat and replaced the bottle in her pocket. Stealthily she crept forward, paper towel extended, as the remaining girl prayed fervently for her bodily safety and obviously absent sanity. "Hey, puppy, good puppy," Issy cooed, causing the mini-Hound to raise its head in suspicion. "Got you a Christmas treat, so no hard feelings about the staff wing, right? Brought you some bacon, good puppy. That's it. . ."  
  
Les Trade ambled over and sniffed at the contents of the towel, his powerful doggie nose detecting food. With a grateful woof at the girl, he snarfed up the bacon. True to his namesake, Les Trade was a wonderful guard dog, but he wasn't exactly the brightest light on the Christmas tree.  
  
The two girls watched anxiously as Les Trade licked his lips, settling back on his haunches in contentment. They didn't have long to wait. A low rumble was heard as Les Trade's eyes widened. Slowly, a dark green light filtered into the mini-Hound's glowing eyes, turning them the same shade as a fresh sprig of mistletoe. Suddenly, with a huge leap, the Baskerville puppy leapt onto Issy, knocking her to the floor and bathing her face in extra-large doggie kisses! Spluttering, the girl was dragged away by her friend, who luckily slammed the door to the Library before the twitterpated puppy could follow.  
  
Issy armed dog slobber from her forehead. "Gross! I've heard of puppy love, but that's just ridiculous!" she cried.  
  
"But it works!" Leigh shot back, ecstatic. "Think of the possibilities!"  
  
It wasn't difficult for the girls to imagine exactly what they could do with a magic love potion. Especially concerning a certain pair of professors. . . Their conspiratorial whispers never ceased as they headed to Issy's room to plan further, and for Issy to take a shower.  
  
***  
  
At five-fifteen in the evening, March paused by the hall mirror, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle in her little black dress and mentally taking stock of her day. She had finished shoveling the long path from the road with the help of a veritable army of volunteers, but the task would have been completed much sooner if Skybright Daye and Porthos the Pirate hadn't decided to lead the volunteers in a reenactment of "The Pirates of the Caribbean" with snowballs instead of cannons.  
  
An enormous table had been placed at the head of the Dining Hall for the guests of honor, with a twelve-foot Christmas tree situated in the Ballroom for the dancing later. Most of the lodgers had participated in decking both rooms, stringing pine garlands and composing centerpieces for the many tables, which would have been finished a lot sooner if Black Rose hadn't gotten into the cherry Mountain Dew and started chasing people around with mistletoe.  
  
The entire Warren was scrubbed and polished from top to bottom, until the brass doorknobs shone and the windows nearly disappeared from cleaning. Guest rooms were aired out for the coming visitors and occupied bedrooms were hastily tidied before Miss Juliet could show up for a surprise inspection. Of course, this would have been finished a lot sooner if Nooka and Vidar hadn't organized the All-Warren Indoor Sledding Contest with March's best extra-fluffy pillows and too much wax on the Ballroom floor.  
  
The kitchen staff had turned out a holiday feast, keeping it warm in various ovens, microwaves and hotpots, or cold in the huge fridge or freezer. Several roasted geese, fruit ambrosia, cranberry stuffing and every form of potatoes known to mankind waited with the other numerous dishes to be served at six. As if this feat was not incredible in itself, it was rendered nearly miraculous considering the amount of brandied eggnog that had been passed around the kitchen, and not entirely for culinary purposes.  
  
Now, however, everyone was showered, styled and pretty- and/or handsome- fied in his or her best clothes. Even March had gone all-out for the occasion, exchanging her glasses for contacts, weaving her hair into an elaborate bun and donning the infamous "little black dress." Only the bunny ears (which stubbornly refused to be styled in any way, shape or form) hinted that this was the same individual who buried herself in stacks of books, presiding over the Library at BSFA. Rumor among the Sherlockians was that March had prettied herself specifically for a certain detective, but of course, that was false. Well, mostly false.  
  
And the trouble with mostly false things was that, nine times out of ten, they turned out to be partly true.  
  
A resounding knock at the door snapped March to attention and she pushed down butterflies in her stomach before flinging the door open. "Merry Christmas, I'm so glad you could- oh."  
  
Inspector Lestrade shook himself vigorously, clearing off any excess snow before stepping inside. "Well, don't look so happy to see me," he said wryly.  
  
March felt a blush creeping up and she tried to conceal it by taking her guest's overcoat and stowing it the hall closet. "I'm sorry, Lestrade," she spluttered in apology. "I thought you were-"  
  
"Someone else?" finished the little inspector, casting an appreciative leer at the authoress' nylon-encased legs before she turned back around. "Even I could deduce that." He quickly reverted his gaze to her face as she pivoted to glare at him. "Present for the hostess," he said hastily, holding out a tiny white box in a cease-fire gesture. The box contained a small brooch shaped like a tiny gold reindeer. March thanked him warmly and pinned it to her dress before showing him into the (de-waxed) Ballroom, where the Sherlockians were talking merrily and drinking warm eggnog before dinner.  
  
No sooner did the bunny-woman resume her post at the door than another knock was heard. This time, she admitted Sir Sherrinford Holmes (who had gained the title since his father's demise), Lady Holly, a small bundle of winter clothes that turned out to be Virgil, and the three members of the St. Clair family. March greeted them all warmly, especially Virgil, who was one of her favorite original characters. She couldn't help but laugh when he presented her with a homemade pinecone ornament, festooned with colored paper and too much paste. She brought the adults to the Ballroom, helped Virgil hang his ornament on the tree and resumed her post at the door with the young esquire to keep her company.  
  
Over the next hour, the hostess and her page greeted John and Mary Watson, Martha Hudson, Mycroft Holmes and six of the Irregulars, who immediately collected Virgil as a new playmate. Finally, just before six, she opened the door wide to see the main guests of honor. Sherlock Holmes and Nona Brown stepped into the warmth of the Warren, hurriedly shutting the door against the sunless cold.  
  
"Thank God!" cried Nona. "I think I lost all of the feeling in my toes!" Without removing her coat, she embraced her author warmly, or what would have been warmly if traces of snow hadn't clung to her coat. "Oh, March, it's so good to see you! I got so used to seeing you every day at the Academy! How is everything?"  
  
"Nona, you shall give the poor woman frostbite," chided the detective, placing his own coat in the closet. Nona quickly released March and imitated her fiancé, threading her coat onto a hanger as the detective turned to the hostess. "Thank you for inviting us, March," said Holmes, taking March's hand in his remarkably strong grip and holding her brown eyes with his gray ones. "Best of the season." He bowed slightly and grazed his dry lips across her fingers. March did not drool, of course. She was a professor at the Baker Street Fanfiction Academy. She was a serious author with a published novel. She had more maturity than to stoop to drool like a common fangirl.  
  
But she came pretty damn close.  
  
***  
  
"You're sure that you put the potion in Watson's glass?" Leigh whispered to her friend, outwardly smiling as the Sherlockians made conversation in the Ballroom.  
  
"Absolutely." Issy brushed her curls offhandedly, trying to conceal her nerves as she carefully watched the doctor from across the room. "One sip and he'll be sure to fall for me."  
  
Leigh was not consoled. "In front of Mary Morstan? I mean, Mrs. Watson? If anyone finds out about this, you are in such royal trouble. You'll be designated Chew Toy for a week!"  
  
"Hmph." Issy refused to answer, mainly because she couldn't come up with a good argument herself. Suddenly, a movement caught her eye. "Here it comes!" she hissed, discreetly pointing.  
  
Dr. Watson, caught up in conversation with Sir Sherrinford, took up his glass from the table again. Acknowledging the squire's point, whatever that may have been, he took a small sip of the brandied eggnog.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Leigh turned to her friend. "Are you SURE it was his glass???"  
  
"I was sure!" Issy moaned in disappointment, biting her lip in frustration. "Somebody must have accidentally taken his glass by mistake!"  
  
The girls stared at each other as the full consequences of this sunk in. "But that means. . ." Leigh was cut off as a scream pealed through the air, followed by a splash. Craning their necks, the conspirators saw an outraged Mrs. Hudson stomping away from a very confused Inspector Lestrade, who, coincidentally, was soaked in eggnog. Whispers spread like wildfire.  
  
"Did you see that?"  
  
"I can't believe it!"  
  
"Go, Lestrade! First base!"  
  
"Since when did Lestrade get green contacts?"  
  
Issy caught one the arm of a random Sherlockian. "What happened?"  
  
Cool Puella raised an eyebrow in incredulity. "Lestrade just smooched Mrs. Hudson! He was trying to shmooze on her for a while, and then he just grabbed her and kissed her! No mistletoe, even!"  
  
Before Issy could ask anything further, a very embarrassed Leigh yanked her out of the Ballroom. "Absolutely sure!" hissed Leigh once the doors to the Ballroom were closed. "Well, now we know where the potion got off to!"  
  
"I'm glad I only used a few drops," Issy mused. "I guess the potion makes you fall for the first person you see, not whoever pours it."  
  
"Hello! Are you even listening? We need to back off, now! What if Professor Hare finds out about this??"  
  
"Finds out about what?" Leigh and Issy jerked around, confronted by a very stern March Hare, flanked by Nona and Holmes. Leigh found herself unable to speak, partly out of fear, and partly because she had caught her first glimpse of Sherlock Holmes in formalwear, which could render almost any woman speechless. "Well?" prompted March.  
  
Sensing Leigh's problem, Issy hurriedly jumped in. "Inspector Lestrade just kissed Mrs. Hudson! Everyone's talking about it!"  
  
"What?" Incredulous smiles broke out among the three professors. "Oh, Lord, I have to see this!" exclaimed Nona. They broke away from the girls and walked double-time into the ballroom, shutting the door on a pair of very relieved students.  
  
Leigh heaved a sigh. "Oh, thank God that's over. I thought that we were done for! We have to stop this, now!"  
  
Issy cast a disparaging eye at her friend. "Oh, come on. Are you telling me that you're going to pass up on this foolproof chance to get Professor Holmes to fall head over heels for you?"  
  
Leigh reflected back on Holmes and his current attire for about 2.5 seconds. "Okay," she said, snatching the bottle. "But this time, *I* do the pouring."  
  
***  
  
As it turned out, Lestrade couldn't remember anything that had gone on after he finished his drink. Mortified, he apologized to Mrs. Hudson, who accepted it graciously (after a few muttered comments about men and alcohol). Everyone decided to chalk it up to a humorous holiday incident, and Lestrade resigned himself to being teased for the next two months (although he secretly relished the attention).  
  
Soon afterwards, the dinner bell rang and the crowds were ushered into the Dining Hall, which had undergone a massive transformation. Snow-white tablecloths graced the plain tables, with fine china and silver adorning them. Pine and holly garlands were strung along the walls and around the windows, framing the picturesque snowfall outside. The polished crystal chandeliers glittered, reflecting the light to dapple the hardwood floor. Even better, though, was the enormous buffet table that occupied an entire wall, burgeoning with every Christmas dish the chefs-du-jour could imagine.  
  
Juliet was in her element, seating everyone at the tables, organizing which tables would progress to the buffet first and basically keeping order. Even the mini-Hounds had a table in the corner, sharing it with Gimlee the mini-Balrog (they couldn't keep him outside for fear of extinguishing him). Finally, when everyone was seated and fed, she took a plate for herself and sat next to March at the table of honor.  
  
"I'm amazed, Juliet," March commented gratefully, accepting a glass of wine from a volunteer server. "I could never pull something like this together."  
  
Juliet grinned as she picked at her roast goose. "It helps to have a legion of supernatural mastiffs, even if they are a little smaller than usual."  
  
Across the room, at the drink counter, Leigh was preparing a set of drinks for the table of honor. Stopping at one goblet of wine, she uncorked a small bottle and added a liberal splash of greenish-brown liqueur to the wine. Smiling to herself, she congratulated herself for such a grand idea. As a volunteer server, she could serve the "mixed drink" to Professor Holmes and be standing right there when he takes that drink. Stowing the bottle in her pocket and looking around for a towel, she quickly wiped her hands and turned back to the tray.  
  
It was gone.  
  
Leigh was, understandably, frantic. She scanned the Dining Hall, finally spotting the errant tray being carried up to the main table by another volunteer. She abandoned protocol and pushed her way through the tables, muttering apologies as she kept her eyes locked on the tray. Too late; the volunteer reached the table and began handing out drinks. With a muttered curse, Leigh discreetly took up a position near the table, meaning to be ready on the off chance that Professor Holmes actually received the tampered cup.  
  
Oblivious the student's schemes, Nona Brown accepted a glass of wine from the server without pausing in her story to Dr. Watson. "And so the shopkeeper said, 'No, it's not dead, it's just resting.' And Cleese said, 'Resting? Now see here, my good man, I know a dead parrot when I see one, and this is-"  
  
The high sound of a fork being tapped against a glass sounded through the Hall, slowly silencing conversation. Time for the Christmas Toast. March rose and lifted her glass, speaking loudly. "I'd like to make a few toasts tonight, to Miss Juliet for organizing this wonderful party, and to Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson for bringing us all together in the first place."  
  
Not to be outdone, Juliet rose with glass in hand. "Then I want to toast to March, for giving us a place to get together and putting up with us under her roof." There were quite a few laughs as the bunny-woman's ears were tinged pink.  
  
Nona got up as well. "I want to toast to March as well, for giving me . . . more than presents for Christmas." Holmes made to rise, but Nona pushed him back down with her free hand, her wry gaze reminding him what happened LAST time he made a toast.  
  
"Oh, let's just toast us all and get it over with!" shouted Hank Riddle from one of the tables.  
  
When the laughter died down, March made a show of considering it. "Good idea," she agreed and lifted her glass higher. "To all of us Sherlockians at Fanfiction.net, for supporting and criticizing each other, for sharing our ideas and talents, and for being together on Christmas."  
  
"HEAR, HEAR!!" The unanimous reply roared from every throat as everyone drank from their glasses and was seated.  
  
"You were saying, Nona?" said Watson.  
  
Nona turned back to the doctor. "Oh, right, the Parrot Sketch. Where was I?" She paused as she noticed something very, very odd. Watson's eye color had suddenly gone from dark brown to. . . green. "Watson? Are you okay?" She never got a verbal reply, since Watson immediately leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips to Nona's mouth!  
  
Pandemonium ensued.  
  
A great many things happened at once. Nona jerked away from the mesmerized doctor, screaming "Help! Murder! Watson's possessed!!"  
  
Mary Watson added her own screaming to the cacophony as she yanked on her husband's collar, but her words were unintelligible (and likely unprintable).  
  
Holmes, having seen the whole debacle from the corner of his eye, leapt to his feet at this ultimate betrayal. How dare Watson, his best friend, take advantage of his fiancée right in front of him!! Seething with righteous anger, he grabbed Watson by the lapels, hauled him up and slammed his fist into his friend's jaw with all of his might!  
  
March Hare and Miss Juliet, having missed the whole thing, turned just in time to see the spellbound Watson crumple to the ground in a stupor and Sherrinford seizing his little brother, pulling him backwards as Sherlock struggled, yelling about honor.  
  
The Sherlockians, alarmed, sprang from their tables to get a closer look at this occurrence, but they were herded back by a perimeter of mini-Hounds. Their frantic questions raised the volume in the room to nearly deafening proportions.  
  
Gimlee the mini-Balrog stumbled about, trying to help but feeling somewhat woozy after drinking all of that brandied eggnog.  
  
"March!" cried Miss Juliet over the din. "What's going on? Where's the fire?"  
  
Nona was pointing at the unconscious Watson, trying to be heard. "Possessed!! Watson's been possessed by a Mary-Sue!"  
  
Frantic questions gave way to terrified screams at the mention of a Mary- Sue, but unfortunately (or fortunately, in this case), no members of the PPC were in attendance.  
  
Gimlee, fogged from the alcohol, heard only "Mary-Sue" and "fire." Drawing a natural conclusion (for a mini-Balrog, anyway), he reared back and let loose a powerful blast of flame, sending an unlucky bystander soaring across the Hall and crashing through one of the long windows. The unlucky bystander just happened to have bunny ears.  
  
Leigh Tobias shoved her way through the screaming crowd and out of the Hall, grabbing Issy from her vantage point by the wall and pulling her into the empty kitchen. "Oh, Lord, what have we done!?!" Leigh wailed. "We've ruined Christmas!!"  
  
"What on earth happened out there??" Issy cried, shaking her friend by the shoulders.  
  
"This is al your fault, Issy! You and your stupid love potion!"  
  
"Whoa, time out, girl! You were the one who slipped it into Holmes' glass! So what happened?"  
  
Leigh took a deep breath before speaking. "I-I lost sight of the glass the potion was in. It must have gone to Watson by mistake."  
  
"Watson??" Issy squealed. "And I wasn't there!" The blue-haired girl sighed in resignation. "Leigh, listen, we're still in the clear. They're going to blame it on a Mary-Sue, so all we have to do is sit tight and no one will find out."  
  
In accordance with the Narrative Laws of Comedy, the girls jumped and screamed as a firm grip came down on their shoulders. "I fear that it is too late for that," breathed the slender male figure. It is a bit difficult for a Middle-Earthian elf, a being of goodness and light, to grin evilly, but Haldir managed quite well.  
  
"How did you hear us??" Leigh croaked uneasily.  
  
"Elves have excellent hearing," came a feminine voice. Northstar, Haldir's designated author, entered from the corridor, arms folded sternly. "But it does help that we were behind the door the whole time. Now," she addressed her muse. "What say we lock these two in the bathroom and go find Miss Juliet?"  
  
"Wonderful," the elf agreed, pulling the conspirators toward the door.  
  
Leigh and Issy shared a sick look, both of their faces speaking in unison. *We are SO screwed.*  
  
***  
  
March woke up in her bed, groaning. "God, what a terrible dream," she muttered, sitting up slowly. However, she was soon assaulted by a wave of nausea, helped along by the fact that she reeked to high heaven. Looking down, she saw that she was in a ripped and torn black dress, her high heels were missing, her hair was loose and tangled and she was coated with a thin film of brown slime. With the realization that her eventful night was no dream, the nausea increased tenfold.  
  
"Easy," said Juliet, laying a comforting hand on the bunny-woman's shoulder. "You're fine, everything's fine."  
  
"Miss Juliet said you're be a little queasy," chimed Black Rose, the student watching anxiously from the other side of the bed.  
  
"Huh? Wha happen?" March felt like her head was stuffed with cotton.  
  
Juliet adopted a mock-cheerful tone. "The good news is, after you crashed through the window, you landed in a snow bank which extinguished the flames."  
  
"And the bad news?"  
  
Juliet faltered a bit, trying to push down a smile. "The bad news is that the snow bank was actually the trash heap from the dinner, covered in snowfall."  
  
March groaned again. "But I should be covered in cuts and bruises," she said to herself.  
  
"Cure-all from Generic Fantasyland," Juliet supplied. "I keep a few at the Academy for emergencies. I wired Sir Perce and he portaled it here. The side effects are a short nap and queasiness. You've been out for about-" she checked the clock on the bed stand, "two and a half hours."  
  
March, though still woozy, felt slightly more coherent. "What happened in there?"  
  
Miss Juliet cast a swift glance at Black Rose before continuing. "It was a Mary-Sue," she said heavily, eliciting a gasp from Black Rose. "She managed to briefly infect Inspector Lestrade and Dr. Watson, which made them act out of character. Still, I called in the PPC and they say the Sue was dealt with." Turning abruptly, she said to the student, "Rose, I think that will be all for now. Thank you for volunteering, and let everyone know that the threat is over and the party is to continue." Nodding, Black Rose hurriedly left to spread the word.  
  
March swung her feet over the bed and stood shakily. "What really happened, Juliet?"  
  
"A couple of pranksters," replied the coordinator. "Northstar and Haldir were sneaking into the kitchen for an early slice of pie and heard them talking. We left them locked in the bathroom until you felt up to hearing them out."  
  
"Pranksters!! What on earth did they do!?"  
  
Juliet hesitated. "I think that you'll want to hear this for yourself. Ready?"  
  
March's face grew grim. Nobody ruined her party and got away with it. "Just let me shower."  
  
***  
  
"So, let me get this straight," March asked incredulously, staring down the shamefaced pair of miscreants. "You made a *love potion*??"  
  
"Love Potion No. 10," murmured Issy, her hair hiding her face.  
  
"What happened to the other nine?" asked Northstar.  
  
"Dunno."  
  
March made an unpresuming judge as she held court at the kitchen table, clad in pajamas and bathrobe, her hair and ears still damp from the shower. Behind her stood the more-imposing Miss Juliet, with Northstar and Haldir, as the apprehending officers, present as well. The Canonicals were absent, talking down the now-conscious and extremely embarrassed Dr. Watson. Leigh and Issy stood slumped in the center of the room, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Faint sounds of merriment were audible from the Ballroom, and a small bottle of greenish-brown liqueur rested on the tabletop.  
  
"If the potion was at fault the whole time," March asked, "why did Nona suspect a Mary-Sue?"  
  
"Apparently," supplied Miss Juliet. "It turns your eyes green for as long as the potion holds your mind. Nona saw the color change in Dr. Watson's eyes and immediately thought 'possession'."  
  
"We didn't mean anything, Professors!" Leigh burst out. "We're sorry! We just wanted to. . ." She trailed off, but it wasn't necessary for her to finish. It was all too obvious what they had wanted.  
  
March was at her sternest as she pronounced judgment on the pair. "You will be confined to your rooms until we return to the Academy," she announced. "When we return, you both shall have a week's detention." The girls' eyes grew wide. That was all? "In the dungeons." Now the conspirators looked sick. "With Professor Moriarty." With twin moans, their knees gave out and they slumped to the floor. At a nod from Juliet, Northstar and Haldir each seized a girl and marched them down the corridors to their rooms.  
  
Now alone with her fellow professor, March grabbed the bottle and climbed onto the counter, placing the bottle on the highest shelf. "Hey, aren't you going to dump it down the sink?" asked Juliet, puzzled.  
  
March leapt down with practiced ease. "Nah, I think I'll save it for Sherlock," said the librarian. "He can take it home and pick it apart with his chemicals. Kind of a late Christmas present."  
  
Juliet nodded, satisfied. "Want to get changed and head to the Ballroom?"  
  
March's face fell. "No, I don't feel well. I'm going to turn in."  
  
"But March-" It was too late. The bunny-woman had already disappeared.  
  
***  
  
By three in the morning, the Warren was quiet. The Sherlockians, worn with merriment, had stumbled to their rooms, shimmied out of their dress clothes and had fallen exhaustedly to sleep. The halls and corridors were bare of all life as the occupants dreamed in their chambers, satisfied with a very memorable Christmas. Well, almost all life, anyway.  
  
Squinting through her glasses in the dim moonlight, March Hare crept through the passageways and entered the kitchen. She had awoken at three, no longer tired, no longer nauseous, and ravenously hungry. Switching on the kitchen light, she rescued a slice of pumpkin pie from the fridge and poured herself a glass of milk, sitting at the table and munching forlornly. She felt depressed that her Christmas plans had gone so awry. She had been looking forward to the dancing especially, hoping to briefly coax Holmes away from Nona, but waltzing and seasickness make poor partners.  
  
Speak of the devil. She was started from her melancholy musings by a figure shuffling in. "March!" exclaimed Sherlock Holmes, looking far from the Great Detective in his dressing gown and tousled hair. "I was not aware that you were. . . ah, how are you feeling? Any better?"  
  
March grinned at the flustered man. "All better, and starving. Care to join me?"  
  
He shook his head. "No, thank you. I couldn't sleep; I was going to hunt down the liquor cabinet for a nightcap."  
  
March swallowed and pointed with her fork. "The really strong stuff is on the top shelf." She returned her attention to her plate, hearing him rattling around for a glass.  
  
"You're sure you're all right?" he asked outside her line of sight.  
  
The librarian smiled a bit sadly. "I'm fine, Sherlock, I just. . . I kind of missed being there for the dancing. Growing up, I never really had a chance to be formal, and I felt so, you know, different, being dressed up like that. That was my Christmas present to me, I guess, so I'm a little disappointed." She laughed a little self-consciously. "I guess I'll have to find something else as a present." She reapplied herself to the dessert, but paused as she felt a pair of long-fingered hands on her shoulders. He was so nice to her. Leaning into the touch, she said, "Thanks for worrying, though, it's nice to know you thought-!" She broke off with a jerk, her eyes going wide as she felt the owner of those hands leaving a trail of kisses from her neck to her shoulders. Quaking with uncertainty, she turned her head to peer into his steadfast green eyes.  
  
Green eyes. The same shade as a fresh sprig of mistletoe. Which meant. . .  
  
"Oh. Oh! OH, INDEED!!"  
  
*And the last thought she had,  
  
As she pulled him from sight:  
  
"Merry Christmas to me,  
  
"And a VERY good night!"*  
  
~~  
  
Ha! Weren't expecting that, were you? Okay, so maybe I stretched things just a little, but that's why it's fun! Oh, well, I hope you enjoyed it. I'm leaving it as a one-shot, but if anyone else wants to do a "morning after" fic, you have my full permission.  
  
Merry Christmas, Happy Blue Carbuncle Day, and Felice Nuovo Anno (Happy New Year in Italian)!  
  
REVIEW!!!!!!! 


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